Classic Poem

Like a dream through sleep she glided
Through the silent city gate,
By a guilty Hermes guided
On the feather'd feet of Theft;
Leaving between those she left
And those she fled to lighted discord,
Unextinguishable hate;
Leaving him whom least she should,
Menelaus brave and good,
Unbelieving in the mutter'd
Rumour, in the worse than utter'd
Omen of the wailing maidens,
Of the shaken hoary head:
Of deserted board and bed.
For the phantom of the lost one
Haunts him in the wonted places;
Listening, looking, as he paces
For a footstep on the floor,
For a presence at the door;
As he gazes in the faces
Of the marble mute Colossi,
Each upon his marble throne;
Yearning gazes with his burning
Eyes into those eyes of stone,
Till the light dies from his own.
But the silence of the chambers,
And the shaken hoary head,
And the voices of the mourning
Women, and of ocean wailing,
Over which with unavailing
Arms he reaches, as to hail
The phantom of a flying sail—
All but answer, Fled! fled! fled!
False! dishonour'd! worse than dead!

At last the sun goes down along the bay,
And with him drags detested Day.
He sleeps; and, dream-like as she fled, beside
His pillow, Dream indeed, behold! the Bride
Once more in more than bridal beauty stands;
But, ever as he reaches forth his hands,
Slips from them back into the viewless deep,
On those soft silent wings that walk the ways of sleep.